Rating: T
Disclaimer: If I owned House, M.D. I could think of a few better things to be doing at 3:39 AM.
Author's Note: Alright, Hector... I'm afraid I owe you a bit of an apology, mate. First of all, I must say that you've been doing a splendid job of holding up your end of the bargin-- all of the reviews have kept me high as a kite for the week! Sadly, I have not been performing as admirably as you deserve. This chapter is short, and rather just what I would consider ridiculous feel-good fluff. Now, I have been unexpectedly tied up with a new Graphics lab, but that's not really an acceptable excuse. So, the only thing I can do is promise that the next chapter will be nice and long and move things a bit (Team gets suspicious, House talks to Cuddy, House and Wilson go to get tux, Cam gets dress, etc.) and that by chapter 10 our two favorites will be in a car on the way to Boston...ROADTRIP! So, without further ado, and hoping that you have been appeased, I leave you to this superfluous installment. Happy and funny enough for you, Hector? Let me know. LOVELOVELOVE.
Chapter dedication: the lovely kaleidoscope60, who, with a whopping 126 words, has given me the biggest fix yet!
"House, what does this say?"
"What?"
"This. Right here where I'm pointing…"
"Oh come on Cameron, didn't 'Hooked on Phonics' work for you? Look, any idiot can tell that that says… Um… fongle."
"Fongle..? The patient presented with swollen fongle?"
Drs. Gregory House and Allison Cameron were both seated at the table in the diagnostics conference room, each with a stack of case notes in front of them. Now, ordinarily House wouldn't have been caught dead doing his own charting, but then again… ordinarily House wouldn't have been caught dead at a family wedding with his junior immunologist as an escort. As fortune would have it, he was going to attend said gathering with said female doctor, and therefore, he owed said female doctor some Clinic hours. Magnanimously, Cameron had compromised that she wouldn't make him do them if he helped her finish all of the typical grunt work before the weekend—which meant charting, dictations and going through requests for consults. Despite the fact that House knew she was giving him an easy out, it didn't keep him from grumbling.
In any event, there they sat: rifling through all of House's chaotic notes that had piled up from the last two complex cases. Now and again, Cameron needed help deciphering her boss's messy hand-writing—as she did right then.
House scooted his chair closer to lean over her shoulder, trying to decipher the slanted sguiggles that overran the page. There, beneath her well-manicured finger, were the words: 'Symptoms: night sweats, diarrhea, tightness in the chest, and swollen… fongle.' What the Hell was that—?
"Gimme that—! Can't read properly with your big, fat head in the light," he announced, swiping the packet of papers out from under her nose. Cameron rolled her eyes and watched in mild amusement as he squinted at his own writing.
"Yes, it's my big, fat head's fault. Ever think of maybe, modifying your scrawl to a state that's slightly above chicken scratch?"
But House wasn't paying attention—he was too busy proving her point by not being able to make heads or tails of his own handwriting. Tightness in the chest and swollen… Jeez, what did that say?! Swollen… F-O-N-G-L-E… Oh no wait, that was a 'T'—"
"TONGUE!"
"E-excuse me?" The immunologist asked, willing her pounding heart rate to return to normal after that loud outburst.
"Patient presented with a swollen tongue!" her companion stated proudly, giving her a smug look as he slid the file back over. "It's all there in black and white— you just need to get that glasses prescription checked." House's smirk grew as he thought of something. "In fact, if you wanted to mosey on down to Ophthalmology right now, I wouldn't mind—" And he started to climb out of his chair and make a break for his office.
"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" Cameron ordered sternly, doing her best impression of what she took to be Dr. Cuddy's House-control tone. Surprisingly enough, it worked—he had actually frozen mid-stride. "No dice, we're finishing the charting… so park yourself back in that seat!"
House looked at her for a moment before returning to his chair. In a way, his obedience surprised them both. "Jeez, Cameron. Crack that whip a little harder, would ya?" he commented dryly and she quickly dropped her gaze to the table. Hm, clearly she wasn't completely confident around him—back into the shell she went.
"Sorry, I just—" she began, only to be waved off. He'd had enough blundering apologies in the last two days to last him a goddamn lifetime.
"Don't. Listen, I personally don't have a problem with a little domination," House waggled his eyebrows at her. "But so far as this weekend goes… Maybe you should leave the ball-gag at home—you know how uptight and close-minded these high-brow military types can be."
Cameron snorted at this taboo comment, grateful, for once, for his sarcasm. Sometimes… She thought to herself. Maybe he was right. Maybe jokes could be the appropriate scapegoat. "Oh no!"
"What?"
"The dress I had in mind is comprised of strips of tight, black leather!" she exclaimed, slapping a hand to her face in mock horror. House let out a funny little grunt, and when the immunologist looked up at him, his eyes were closed with a funny expression furrowing his brow. "House..?"
"Shush."
"House, I was kidding! Is something wrong…?" Cameron asked anxiously, wondering at his reaction. Had she taken the joke too far? Like always?Damn. She wasn't used to banter—didn't know where the line was…
"Oh for crying out loud, Cameron—I'm trying to commit that image to memory! Shhh!" He hissed, cracking one eye to shoot her an exasperated glare before closing it again. A longing sigh escaped his lips.
The young immunologist took a moment for this statement to register, and when it did her mouth opened into a little 'o' of shocking realization. "You're such a perv," she stated as he re-opened those baby blues and smirked at her. As it was, an easier mood had returned, and she gave him an odd smile before sliding another file in his direction.
"Correction, my dear doctor: I am a guy."
"Same thing."
"…You have a point, there."
...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...
"Beatchya!" House exclaimed, snapping the last folder in his pile shut and tossing it back onto the table. Cameron looked up from her own work and cast him a sideways glance.
"Beat me?" she echoed, swiping at an auburn lock of hair that had fallen across her eyes. "I didn't know we were competing."
"Not relevant. I still won," he replied superiorly, tilting his chair back and lacing long fingers behind his head. Cameron's nurturing instinct winced at this action, a voice in her mind that sounded suspiciously like her own mother's warning that: 'he was going to tip over and crack his head open!' Thankfully, she shook off the urge to scold him, instead opting to quickly scribble the last few lines on her page.
"Done!" she announced, slapping her pencil down with a smile. "You only had me by a few seconds—and I would've won if you had told me that we were having a race…" the playful accusation was met with an eye-roll that clearly rebuked the claim. He was so annoying it was cute, sometimes. Other times, he was so annoying it was… really damn annoying.
Instead of answering, House leaned further back and glanced at his watch. Hm. Almost nine—not bad time for the amount of charting they had slogged through… and admittedly not the worst thing he had ever spent time doing. Having to listen to Wilson go on about Sarah from Radiology was more painful, for example—
"It's close to nine o'clock," Cameron noted aloud, standing to stack their finished project neatly. "Wonder where Foreman and Chase are."
The diagnostician shrugged his shoulders and took a long draught from his mug. "Doesn't matter that much; we don't have a patient yet. If they weren't going to come in they'd have called Cuddy."
"Right." In all truthfulness, she had mentioned it so as to fill up the void. It seemed that words were coming easier, but silences were still something that she had no idea how to handle. What madness could be going on behind those blue eyes was a complete mystery to her.However, now that he had brought up the topic of calling people… "Dr. House?"
"What is it, Pookie?"
The younger immunologist couldn't decide whether to shudder or laugh at this gag-inducing new title. It did, however, fit into the newest question that had sprung to mind. "Well, since you mention 'pookie'… What am I calling you this weekend?"
House, who had once again retrieved his Rubik's cube from his backpack, spun the object between lithe fingers. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean…" Cameron took a breath, part of her snickering at the irony of the situation. "I mean that if I'm supposedly your girlfriend, it might come off as odd if I'm calling you by your surname…right?"
"Oh." He mumbled, half to himself, as the sensibility of her words resounded. It was true—it wouldn't do to have her calling him 'House' or 'Dr. House' in front of people who were to believe that they were a romantic item. Hmph, another one of those annoying details that would probably be his undoing. "Oh, yeah, you're probably right."
"So..?" she prompted him.
"So… I guess that means you're calling me 'Greg.'"
"Greg?" It came out as more surprised than she intended it to.
"Yeah. See, that's my first name," House told her slowly, his eyes stubbornly glued to the toy in his hands. "If you want proof you can ask Jimmy— and I'm talking about Wilson, in case you didn't know."
Cameron decided to ignore that sarcastic jab, and instead reached over to refill his coffee cup for the third time that morning. Calling House by his first name..? Who'd have thunk it? "Alright then, 'Greg' I can do. Anything else..?"
"You mean as far as… what, bedroom nicknames? Can I be 'Master'? Pleeeease?"
"Ew, no." she allowed for a visible wince at the very thought, one which earned a fleeting smirk from him. "I just figured that most couples have other sorts of names for one another. You know, things like 'honey' or 'sweetheart'…" she made circular motions with her hands, needing him to catch on before she became the first medical case in history to die of blushing. God, was she actually having this conversation with her typically cold-shouldered employer? Said man had poked his tongue out of his mouth as he fiddled with his cube, but now he gave her a bit of his attention. Oh man, those blue eyes…
"You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Cameron," he informed her, accepting his drink back and blowing momentarily on the scalding liquid. "But alright. For the sake of the mission," House sighed emphatically. "I'll accept any name that doesn't make reference to edibles—which obviously excludes things like cupcake, sweetie pie, and particularly nauseating titles of the muffin persuasion." He paused here to make a revolted face. "I'm not a food."
Cameron laughed audibly at this indignant proclamation. No, no he most certainly was not a food. "So you're okay with 'stud'..?" she asked teasingly, and he seemed to consider carefully.
"I could choke back the gag on that one, I think."
"Good, you stick to that," she told him, reassuming her chair. So, mark it down in the history books—this weekend she wouldn't be calling House 'House.' She'd be calling him Greg, or… Sweetheart. Or sometime equally as… intimate. Ooh… The realization of this whole situation was a bit more staggering by the moment. The real question was this: could she actually remember not to call him by his last name? "House…"
The man in question sighed as she interrupted his puzzle again. "Whaaat? Jeez, you've certainly got the nagging part of the relationship down pat!"
"Sorry. I just. I'm afraid I'll forget not to call you 'House'… Force of habit, you know?" the pretty immunologist eyed him, hoping that he would understand. "Wouldn't want to blow the mission on something so stupid as that."
"Hm. You're right." House admitted, and she breathed again. "Well then…" he chewed his lower lip in thought, tossing the Rubik's cube from hand to hand, and Cameron tried hard not to think of the fact that he was boyishly adorable in his contemplation. "I guess you can practice for today. My name, I mean—just to try to get used to it."
This meant, of course, that people would probably hear her calling him 'Greg' and the rumor mill would nearly combust with excitement… but certain sacrifices had to be made. Or so he reasoned to himself. As he uttered these words, Cameron's heart skipped a beat. An accommodating House? Since when?!
"Thanks…" she said sincerely, and then as an afterthought: "…Greg." The short syllable had the same effect on both doctors—they cringed. She cringed for the foreign and almost forbidden taste of the name, and he for the foreign and almost forbidden sound of the name as it sounded in her voice. WEEEIIRD!
However, as they scrunched their noses, each noticed the mirroring expression on the other's face… and chuckled nervously. At least it was awkward for them both. There was an odd comfort in the shared discomfort.
"You're welcome, Cameron," he replied gruffly, averting his eyes once more. There was a moment's pause before either spoke again, and when words did come, they were soft.
"Allison—call me Allison."